


My Heart Burns There Too

by redwinehouse (orphan_account)



Series: Cranial Capacity INDEFINITE HIATUS, BUT A FULL STORY LINE WAS COMPLETED [30]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Comedy, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-11
Updated: 2017-09-11
Packaged: 2018-12-26 14:12:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12060627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/redwinehouse
Summary: On a rainy day, a horror movie marathon sounds perfect to you and John. Everything goes awry when you are met with your biggest fear. The raindrops still falling outside, Sherlock does his best to comfort you.





	My Heart Burns There Too

  


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“This is one of the few times I’m glad I am friends with Sherlock Holmes.” 

You smacked John’s arm. “Oh, come off it! He’s your best friend.” 

John snapped his fingers. “Damn it!” 

It had been raining for two days straight, trapping all three of you in the house. The gusts of wind outside were so strong that you could hear a faint whistle and there was a small rumble whenever it hit the building. You watched as endless raindrops slid down your bedroom window, blurring the view outside. You loved watching the rain hit the pavement in big splashes. In truth, you loved everything about the rain. It was so relaxing and reminded you how safe and warm you were inside 221 Baker Street. 

You and John were sitting on your bed, a laptop in front of you. You had decided that today would be a great day for a horror movie marathon. Unsurprisingly, Sherlock would have none of it. John had tried to push him, promising movies that only had a good plot, but he only earned a role of the eyes. It was extremely hard to scare Sherlock Holmes and horror films were quite a bore to him, but it would have been fun to do as a family. Try as you might, he refused. 

However, being Sherlock Holmes, he was able to get his hands on a movie that was still in theatres. 

”You ready?” John asked. 

”Do it.” 

John slipped the DVD into the laptop and hit play. “I kind of feel like a dick because I didn’t read the book.” 

You nodded in agreement. “I usually do, but for some reason I just never got around to it.” 

The opening scene lit up the screen and you both watched, wide-eyed and focused. 

”Aw,” you groaned sadly, “that kid is going to die.” 

”Well, hang on, then. You don’t know it!” 

You both watched as a little boy in a yellow raincoat chased a small paper boat down a street during a rainy day, just like the one outside. 

”Shit,” John cursed, “I remember this from the ‘90s. Fucker is going to be in the drain.” 

”John?” 

”Yeah?” 

”Ever since I knew about John Wayne Gacy as a kid, I’ve been deathly afraid of clowns. I had nightmares for months.” 

John looked at you as if you told him the earth was flat. “Then why _the fuck_ are we watching ‘It’?” 

_”Want your boat, Georgie?”_

At the sight of Pennywise, the monstrous shape shifting clown, you threw the laptop across the room and screamed. Needing to make as much distance between you and the clown as possible, you hurtled down the stairs. Eyes bulging, you ran into the living room, sliding across the floor and smacking into the window with enough force to make you fall down. 

Resting your cheek on the red throw carpet, you blew a piece of hair out of your eyes and looked at Sherlock, who was sitting in his chair, legs crossed and looking down at you with a judgmentally raised eyebrow. His violin was nestled in the crook of his neck and the bow was hovering over the strings. With a small smirk, he touched the bow to the strings and began to play the Benny Hill theme song. 

”You are a _cock,_ Sherlock Holmes!” you screamed, but he kept playing, visibly chuckling. You could hear John from upstairs, howling at your misery. “It’s not funny!” You sat up. “How do you even know Benny Hill?” 

”Does it matter?” 

”Is he playing Benny Hill?” By now John was down the stairs and Sherlock was still playing the ultimate ode to stupid people. "This is by far the meanest thing you have ever done and it is to your fucking wife!” John threw himself into his chair. “I am in shock.” 

By now you had sat up and Sherlock played the final notes with an aggressive shove. He gave you a shit eating grin. “I only played what was appropriate.” 

You lightly touched your left arm and winced. You were going to have one hell of a bruise. In a lot of pain, humiliated, and still a little scared, you stood up and hung your head. Dejected, you dragged yourself upstairs and quietly shut the door. 

John looked up the stairs. “I honestly can’t believe that I wasn’t the one who-“ The words died in his throat when he turned back to Sherlock. The detective was giving him an icy glare. 

”You should have known she was petrified of clowns. What the devil were you thinking, you idiot?” Sherlock snapped. 

”I…” John turned to the stairs, “she…” He sat there, trying to piece together the Sherlock who was just blatantly mocking you to the one giving him the death glare. “She wanted to watch it and you got it for her…” John managed questioningly. 

Sherlock huffed. “Like I know what the hell that movie is. Who names a story about a clown _It_?” 

John held up a finger. “It’s quite clever actually –“ 

”Shut up, John.” Sherlock reached into his pocket and took out a worn piece of paper. Every single inch of it was covered in his handwriting. “I started this when I first met her. At the time, I didn’t believe that making space in my mind palace to memorize these things was worth it. Obviously, I was wrong.” Sherlock handed the paper to John, which was so tattered by use that is was velvet soft. 

John looked over the paper. Sherlock had scribbled hundreds, if not thousands of notes about you; your likes, dislikes, food preferences, and everything in between. In the bottom right-hand corner in capital bold letters was, “NOV.2013 – EXTREME COULROPHOBIA.” 

”Sherlock, this – wow,” John stuttered, resting his cheek on his palm. “This is very nice of you.” 

”Obviously I’ve committed it all to memory by now. You need it more than I do.” He stood up. “Next time pay more attention.” Sherlock straightened his jacket before he went to check on you. 

”Well I feel like a proper dick now,” John said to no one. 

****

****

**~*~**

You had wrapped yourself into a cocoon of warm blankets. The now cracked laptop was sitting in front of you, flashing you scene after scene of the terrifying clown. You were biting down on your knuckle, doing your best not to scream. That was how Sherlock found you when he quietly opened the bedroom door. 

”What are you, a complete moron?” He scolded. He snapped the laptop shut and put it on the floor. “What type of person continues a behavior that made them smash into a window and cry? Even rats know not to press the button that zaps them twice.” He probably had more to say, but the sight of your tear stained face made him sigh. 

He sat on the bed and leaned back on the headboard. “Come here.” He wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you onto his lap. He kissed the top of your head. “If I knew it had a clown in it I wouldn’t have gotten it for you.” 

You closed your eyes and rested your head on his chest. You could hear his heartbeat. “I wanted to get over it. I’m a grown woman. Being afraid of clowns is ridiculous.” 

Sherlock started to gently rub your back. “You fear is actually quite justifiable. Clowns cover their faces with makeup, hiding their true identity and exaggerating their features to the point in which they look deformed. They put on a façade and take on a fake name, and then you’re supposed to trust them with young children.” He placed two fingers under your chin and tilted your face up so you were looking at him. His expression was gentle. “So clowns really are very scary.” He kissed your forehead before pulling you into a soft kiss. 

”So are you going to apologize?” You asked. 

Sherlock snorted. “Why would I do that? You should have seen yourself.” He gave you a tight hug. “You looked like a complete fool.” 

You rolled your eyes, knowing that was as much as you were going to get out of him. But for Sherlock, it was a lot, so you took it. Nestling into his chest, you closed your eyes and listened to the rain, never feeling more safe. 

**Author's Note:**

> I have _NO_ inspiration right now. I'm always inspired by things that happen in my life and there has been nothing, so if you want to see something and I like it, slap it down in the comments. I don't know how long my brain will be fried.
> 
> I wanted to do something with It because Stephen King based Richie off of me.


End file.
